Demyx tries to cheer Axel up. Implied slash.
He could have ... no, should have been out looking for Roxas. It would have certainly given him something with which to occupy himself. Instead Axel was draped facedown on one of the wide windowsills that doubled as a bench, one arm dangling off the side, one leg tucked almost completely underneath him. He couldn't tell what time of day it was - the heart-shaped moon made that impossible - but he was pretty sure he'd been lying there for a couple hours.
Roxas hadn't even been gone a full day and Axel had already stalked through the castle, angry and bored, looking for someone hurt. But only Xemnas had been hanging around, and even Axel wasn't reckless enough to antagonize the Superior. He could have let himself be numb, let himself drop the pretense of emotion, and go about his business acting like the Nobody he was instead of moping teenager. It would certainly be easier than dealing with the whole mess.
But then, Axel had never been one to do things the easy way.
He didn't have to look up to know Demyx was there, peering at him from the doorway. He imagined the kid probably had his sitar clutched in one hand, possibly complete with a worried look on his face to match the sound of his voice. "What do you want?" the redhead snarled.
Demyx flinched at the other man's tone, but he still took a step inside, holding up the instrument as a peace offering. "I just wanted to say I'm sorry... about Ro-"
"If you finish that sentence," Axel said through clenched teeth, "I swear I'll turn that stupid guitar into ashes."
"It's called a sitar!"
"I don't care what it's called. I don't want your pity, and I don't want to hear whatever freaky little tune you think would cheer me up." He rolled over to face the window, pulling his legs up to his chest. "Just go away."
There was a moment of silence, and then footsteps approaching him. He watched Demyx's reflection coming toward him and wished the other Nobody would just let him sulk in peace. No one else gave a damn - they were probably glad that he'd secluded himself in this wing of the castle.
Demyx knelt behind him. Axel frowned. He heard the clunk of the sitar being laid on the floor, and then Demyx's arm looped around him and pulled him a hug. He rolled his shoulders, trying to dislodge him, but Demyx only squeezed and pressed his face into his back. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and Axel sighed and shut his eyes.
"There's nothing for you to be sorry about. What's wrong with you?"
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know you really liked him." Then he brushed his lips against the back of Axel's neck, so softly that Axel wasn't even sure it had happened.
He bit his lip. "Stop that," he ordered, but it was a half-hearted command at best. Demyx pressed harder. Axel curled himself inward until his forehead touched his knees. "What do you want from me?"
"If I ..." Demyx rested his forehead on the other man's shoulder. "If I pretend I'm Roxas, would you pretend you love me?"
If Demyx had been trying to catch him off guard, he'd succeeded. Axel's eyes burned, and to his surprise a tear trailed down his cheek, dropping on the windowsill with an almost imperceptible splash. He couldn't remember ever crying, not even in any of the muddled, chaotic dreams that sometimes let him see himself as he had been before.
Roxas might have made him feel like he had a heart, but Demyx was starting to come very close to doing the same.
He reached behind him, fumbling until he found Demyx's hand, and clasped it tight. "Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I can do that." He sat up and gave his hand a squeeze.
"Come on, Roxas. Let's go."